The word handsome was a little beyond her grasp. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. "Are you sure these bars touch the ground?" "They come within a yard of it," answered Jonathan. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. Jack had been touched in the morning, but he was now completely prostrated. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style.
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